Blood List(7)

Gardner swore under his breath. "I have to tell the mayor." He stood to leave and dropped a business card on the table.

In response, Agent Barnhoorn yelled, "NO PRESS LEAKS!" Gardner waved him down as he headed for the door.

"Got it, got it. Secrecy's the game, even though this guy already knows you're here. Whatever. You need something, you call me." He walked out.

Gene put his head in his hands, rubbed his temples, and spoke. "Sam?"

She already knew the question and had an answer. "There are only six J.Z.B.s in St. Louis on public record. There are another nine statewide. I'm sending the addresses to your phone right now."

Gene smiled. "You know I love you, don't you, Sam?"

"Who wouldn't, babe?"

Jerri raised her hand, like a teenager in high school. "Hey, Gene?"

Gene smiled. "Don't worry; I love you, too, Jerri."

She frowned and looked at the floor. "That's not it, Gene." She paused.

Never a patient man, Marty glared at her. "What?"

"My middle name is Zoe."



* * *



July 23rd, 7:58 AM CST; The Hotel Marriott Pheasant Room; St. Louis, Missouri.



Gene's heart pounded as he stared at the phone. This could be the day. The loud mid-morning traffic had a hard time competing with the noise coming from the lobby. The Innovators of Tomorrow technology conference, sponsored by the State of Missouri, had the whole city jammed to peak capacity, and the Airport Marriott was no exception. Gene blocked out the noise. This just had to be the day.

With help from the Mayor's office, they were staking out every J.Z.B. in the greater St. Louis area. The state police covered the rest of Missouri. It was a huge expenditure of police power dedicated to one and only one goal—catching the D Street Killer before he killed again.

Special Agent Jerri Zoe Bates bided her time in the basement of the J. Edgar Hoover building back in D.C., surrounded by the best security in the world. Gene couldn't think of a safer place. Even though she was out of the state, and thus shouldn't be the D Street Killer's target, she'd been closed in for six days, under constant guard like a prisoner, and she was suffering for it.

Jerri had begged Gene to allow her to do something, anything, useful. Gene hadn't budged, so there she sat. Gene knew he'd catch holy heck for it later, but it beat getting her killed. Even if he could forgive himself, Marty never would.

Gene paced back and forth in the Marriott conference room that served as their headquarters. His cell phone sat idle in his hand. He checked his watch. 7:58 AM, day six. The D Street Killer always took his victim within six days of calling the FBI. Always. It was day six. So today had to be the day. But then again, he always gave them a city after two days and initials the morning of the kill, before 8:00 AM. The call with the full name and street always came too late.

This time was different. He hadn't called the second time with the city, and they'd already known the initials. Gene looked at his watch again. One minute to go.

The phone rang. D Street Killer. Unknown Number, taunted him on the Caller-ID. Gene hit "talk."

"Hello?"

The mechanical voice greeted him. "Hello, Agent Palomini. I'm just calling to say that you missed one. You have a good morning." The phone went dead.

Gene hit autodial and spoke, his message patched through to the unit commanders in charge of surveillance. "This is Special Agent Gene Palomini. We got the call, I repeat, we got the call. Look sharp." He hung up and spoke into the air. "Sam?"

She replied immediately, an edge of hurried panic in her voice. "I know, I know. If I knew about it, we wouldn't have missed it. Let's hope it's him missing a surveillance team and not us dropping the ball."

He speed-dialed his team. "Go, Gene," his brother said, echoed by the others.

"D Street said we quote-unquote 'missed one.' Sam's looking into possibilities." Marty swore. "Ideas?"

Nobody said anything.

Gene walked to the door. "I'm going to check and see if the front desk—"

The caller ID beeped in Gene's hand. D Street Killer. Unknown Number. Gene stopped dead in his tracks. Oh, no, he thought. He pressed "talk" to jump lines. "Jui Zhou Bai, Airport Marriott, lobby. Better luck next time, Agent Palomini."

His phone forgotten, Gene ran to the end of the hall. He took the stairs three at a time, flew down two flights, and slammed into the crash bar on the door with both hands. As it flew open, a crack of thunder and the sound of shattering glass cut through the din of traffic and babble of people. A woman shrieked. Gene pushed through into the lobby and entered complete chaos. Panicked people screamed and trampled one another. The revolving doors stuck in place, jammed with a tide of flesh. He dodged to the side as part of the crowd rushed his position to escape up the stairwell.